


Not Some Delicate Flower

by vecchiofastidioso



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4713458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vecchiofastidioso/pseuds/vecchiofastidioso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a recurring theme here: prompts from Dragon Age Kink!Meme. But this one was really up my alley:<br/>I just think that a tiny Lavellan would be adorable with our big brute. So I'm down for really anything, I'd just prefer a female Lavellan.</p>
<p>Bonuses:<br/>× Lavellan is cute, like everyone in the Inquisition thinks she's just adorable<br/>× Shy Lavellan<br/>× People surprised by Lavellan being with Bull</p>
<p>So here we go, mesieursdames!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid this first chapter is a bit short. But I suspect I'll have more time and energy for longer chapters later on.

         First impressions? The purported Herald of Andraste was tiny.  
         Now, it could have been because the Iron Bull was a great hulking idiot (just ask Krem de la Créme), but the Qunari overheard someone else making that comment. In her hearing.  
         To which she sweetly retorted the best things come in small packages, so you don't over-indulge.  
         It got a soft chuckle out of Krem and Bull both, knowing glances at each other. Krem even gave the Herald a soft "Your Worship" as she floated on by on those tiny feet. Shit. Everything about her looked so delicate, but like she said: best things, small packages. With a few exceptions, but that's a different train of thought altogether, focused on the Iron Bull and not on the Herald. She wouldn't have wandered all over the Free Marches and into Ferelden mostly on her feet if she was frail. Probably wouldn't have made it out of the Fade, divine intervention or no, if there wasn't some steel to the diminutive Elf. There was something to her...  
         So Bull watched, listened, learned. Wasn't hard to do when she took him at his word when he said he'd be her front-line bodyguard (and shit, if she directed that sweet smile she gave him then at raw recruits and even the older soldiers in the Inquisition, she'd have puddles of devoted servants). Bull got to see how attentive she was towards the little people, the villagers and soldiers who had very real concerns, ones that might seem small in the overall scheme of things but which she listened to gravely: the woman whose husband was murdered by rogue Templars claiming his shovel could have been a staff and so they attacked the 'apostate' before he could attack them, taking his wedding ring because it could be enchanted; the soldier who worried refugees would freeze to death as the weather turned frosty but they had no blankets or coats; the damned idiot who was convinced his family's ram was special and could give advice.  
         The last one had her laughing incredulously once they were far enough away. And there were so many more incidents she took seriously enough to know they were important to the people asking for her help.  
         He learned she was honourable. She respected the Blades of Hessarian's traditions. She kept her promises. She respected a person's boundaries. So often, that pale and freckled face would look grave as soft, elegant words passed through her lips to inform someone she found the body of their lover, family member, or friend, and that she had a token for them.  
         It really hadn't taken too long to notice the Herald was blind. Not 'blind as a bat'. Honestly, completely blind. No joking going on here. Even if Bull hadn't noticed Varric subtly nudging her away from the edges of cliffs, from walking off boulders to a sharp drop, Bull would have noticed. The reason was a bit egotistical: she never commented on his appearance. And not once did she look up at his face. At first he wondered if she was a submissive, but her eyes failed to track when hunting or in combat, and occasionally a slender hand would reach out to touch walls or plants near her before she'd continue moving. Yet she'd survived this long, had even thrived.  
         But there was no getting past how fucking tiny the Herald was! If she wasn't so slender and didn't have those pointed ears or over-large eyes, one might think she was a Dwarf! Shit, it was amazing when she was chosen to be the Inquisitor: the damned sword was about as big as she was, but those pale hands hoisted the traditional sword above her head to the cheers of crowds.  
         Hah...yeah. Tiny Boss. But Bull learned his lessons well. It was kind of funny to him how the rest of the Inquisition seemed to ignore the part where Lavellan survived a fucking mountain falling on her and also killed a high dragon. A. Fucking. High. Dragon. With Bull there, yeah, but that little Elf with the ginger hair didn't exactly sit back and listen to him charging that fucker. She was tiny, but the Iron Bull would eat his damned eyepatch if the Inquisitor was some delicate flower.


	2. Seedling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised fluff? Have some fluff, and a glance into the inner workings of this tiny Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Again, a short chapter. I blame it on all the writing I have to do for college.

         She was _not_ some delicate flower.  
         Angharad softly sighed as she let her fingers trail over the leaves and petals of a plant. Blood lotus, judging by the tapering of the petals, the clean and clear scent of a flower typically found along streams and lakes. The garden courtyard had cleared out fairly quickly to leave her in silence with the foliage when in response to a question about her well-being, the Inquisitor admitted to feeling the need for a little quiet and time with the flowers.  
         It wasn't that she felt frail, or faint, or that she was languishing under the burden of command. The Elf simply...enjoyed time alone to recharge. The challenges of being Inquisitor and the places her duties took her were often exhilarating! But there was no way to do it in small doses. It was all or nothing. Do or die. No time to process until the job was done. Her need to mentally digest experiences, personal encounters, and new ideas didn't mean she was unfit. At least, Angharad didn't think so.  
         Which led to most of the Inquisition staff seeing her when she was in her _I need to think things over_ state. If the Inquisitor had one more solicitous inquiry as to whether or not she needed anything, perhaps a tonic or some assistance back to her suite, she was pretty sure she'd scream. Or set something on fire. Maybe both.  
         So she had a soft voice and was slender. And apparently she was shorter than most other people. Lavellan had all of her imagination and the power of the Fade at her command. She was trained to be the next Keeper of her clan, taught how to defend and lead it. She could set people on fire, freeze them solid, trap them in brambles, call down lightning upon them.  
         Delicate flower _her ass_.  
         But Angharad was quiet.  
         Though she greeted visiting dignitaries with serene smiles, she was happier letting Josephine entertain them, while the Elf hid in the garden or up in her room. The slender redhead preferred talking one-on-one with her inner circle over giving speeches to the army and allies. She preferred a cup of tea over drinks in the evening in the tavern, surrounded by loud and bawdy soldiers and visitors. Only reason she went to the latter was because of her self-proclaimed front-line bodyguard.  
         "You're missing the fun, Boss."  
         She tipped her head at the sound of that voice, feeling her hair slip down her back. It was a nice voice. At least, in Lavellan's opinion, it was nice. He pitched it low and gentle in the cool and quiet garden as he approached. Quite often Iron Bull spoke quietly in her presence, and she now realised he usually spoke to her, had real conversations, where they could be secluded and his voice could fall more soothingly on her ears.  
         "I suppose so. I needed a moment to think," she finally replied, just as soft, but in a lighter and sweeter voice. Another reason for people to hover, it seemed: Angharad might have the Anchor and she might be a mage, but her voice was not powerful and compelling. Gravity her voice may carry when she needed to be serious and deliver orders, but bellowing would never be her style. It would be like expecting a sparrow to screech like a hawk.  
         But Bull didn't hover. She heard his great weight settling on a bench and a sigh escaping. Sounds like how furniture creaked as he settled, how far away his voice was from her, and the plodding of his footsteps when exhausted told Angharad the Qunari was so much larger than herself. How had Krem described him? One of those horned giants?  
         She didn't even pause to see if Bull had something to say. The thought came to her mind and slipped out, no filter. "What are your horns like?"  
         There was a pause. Not heavy, more of a questioning pause, like the mercenary was trying to think of how to describe them. "Uh, I dunno. They're...horns. They grow on my head. Why do you ask?"  
         "I've never seen horns," the Elf explained, nibbling on her lower lip. "I've felt halla horns: they're curving and almost interwoven. I've felt the rams' horns on goats we've hunted: they only have a single curve and all those ridges. But what are your horns like?"  
         "Uh, yeah. My horns aren't anything like halla horns." He chuckled, and was still laughing when she felt large, warm hands wrap around her slender hands and lifted them, setting them on something hard. "Here...the Iron Bull doesn't have fancy curly horns."  
         His horns were broad. Broader than she could reach. She had to give up on spanning both horns, and ran both hands over one horn. For the most part, it was smooth. There were ridges and bumps to it though. Edges, but not sharp enough to cut her hands on. And once she went far enough, there was almost a right angle, the horn suddenly going straight up. Eventually it tapered to a point, and her hands moved back towards his head. His horns really did grow out of his head, the bumps and ridges giving way to leathery skin and down to the somewhat softer skin of his forehead. But on the top of his head, the horns connected, just growing from one side to the other, as opposed to growing on either side of his head.  
         "Pretty cool, huh, Boss?"  
         Angharad smiled and let her hands drift back down to her sides. "Certainly not like halla horns."  
         "And you've stopped thinking about what went down in Crestwood."  
         The Inquisitor paused and considered this. Huh. She had. Bull had interrupted her usual rest and digest. She wasn't pondering how she would have to deal with the mayor of Crestwood when Cullen's forces finally brought him to Skyhold, or how many lives could have been saved from the undead if she'd gotten to the village sooner. "I have."  
         "You're welcome, Boss. So. Drinks?"  
         The Elf laughed softly and answered in the affirmative, not protesting when Bull grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. "Has anyone told you how persistent you can be?"  
         "Gotta be when running a crew like the Chargers. Now get marching, Boss, or they'll drink everything before we can get there."


	3. First Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to get somewhat tense. A slow burn, but some things can't be ignored forever. At some point, restlessness will have to be addressed, no matter the camaraderie. (And the author just had to act on how Dorian seems incapable of ignoring bears...)

         This...was not dignified. But at least it was comfortable.  
         This vaguely amused thought flitted through the Inquisitor's mind with a slight smile on her face as Bull loped and splashed along, carrying the diminutive woman in his arms well above the waterline.  
         There was a reason for this! A very good reason. A reason of--  
         "You had _one job_ , Sparkles!"  
         "Yes, such a sensible appointment, Varric! Leave the mage to tend to four large beasts, and expect him to keep track of them while a bear suddenly pops out of the bushes!"  
         Yes. That reason! The reason of _Dorian could have led their mounts away from the bear attack while Angharad, Varric, and Bull were gathering ore and plants, but chose to fight the bear instead._ That reason. And it wasn't that Lavellan was incapable of walking or running on her own. In fact, she'd pointed out her legs worked just fine, even as Iron Bull initially scooped her up.  
         "I know you want to ride The Bull," the great hulking Qunari had joked while cradling her against his chest. "So sit back and enjoy. And look at it this way: no slogging through the river, Boss."  
         Oh, she was appreciative. The rain still fell, chilling her as it soaked her skin and hair. But Iron Bull's arms around her and his chest pressed to her side and cheek were warm, and the Inquisitor found herself wiggling to nestle more comfortably into his heat. She froze for a moment as his stride shifted, but his steps evened out again, and Angharad relaxed into his chest. What had Krem called it when taunting Bull in the ring one day? Pillowy man-bosoms. She couldn't resist nuzzling into the pillowy man-bosoms, curling her arms up between her torso and Bull's.  
         They weren't quite as pillowy as Krem's teasing suggested though. Bull's skin wasn't exactly soft, and there was definitely muscle behind the protective layer of fat. Scars criss-crossed his chest, his arms from what she'd felt before, and probably traversed his back as well. This was certainly the body of a warrior. But Angharad felt...safe...comfortable. Maybe getting pampered so matter-of-factly by Iron Bull like this wasn't so bad.

         It was like carrying a kitten. A needy little kitten seeking warmth, sighing happily once she got comfortable.  
         ...Only difference was: carrying a kitten didn't send sexual awareness sizzling through him.  
         Bull had been joking when he mentioned the Inquisitor wanting to ride The Bull. But with the happy little sound she made once she got comfortable, the way she buried her face in his chest and relaxed against him...well, the mercenary was getting ideas. Ideas that involved a great deal of 'exercise', and ended in her tiny body curling up against him just as trustingly after being bent to his will as it did now.  
         It almost had the normally well-balanced Qunari stumbling on a stone in the river. Almost. His stride simply altered slightly, his body shifting to turn towards the bank instead of following the line of the river. A glance back showed his long-legged loping had left the Tevinter and the Dwarf far behind. The Iron Bull couldn't even see them at this point.  
         "Bull?"  
         He glanced down and smiled reassuringly at the Inquisitor as he stopped them underneath a tree, ducking down to fit under the branches. Whoops. She wouldn't see the smile. But it was the thought that counted. "Looks like we left our friends far behind."  
         "Oh, oops!" That soft giggle was very Lavellan, but the grin on her freckled face made her look like a mischievous minx instead of the quiet leader most people saw.  
         Would she giggle in bed? Or would she stay quiet? Or could he get the soft-spoken Elf to shriek in ecstasy?  
         Rrrmph!  
         The possibilities intrigued him. But Bull was getting a pretty good idea of what made the Inquisitor tick these days. She took a while to warm up to people. Smiles were scarce on her face around newcomers. But once Boss got comfortable with a person...damn. All those solemn, serious, and borderline intimidating expressions would melt away without a moment's warning. Still: she took time to warm up to people even beyond friendship. Bull was actually pretty sure Angharad missed it a lot of the time when people flirted with her--which was admittedly a bit rare. Not too many people wanted to get caught up in the Inquisitor's not exactly average lifestyle.  
         Angharad relaxing against him like this was a good sign. Torturous for Bull's imagination, but it wasn't like he'd be blue-balling it. There was that redheaded Elf who did a lot of poultices and work in Skyhold's growing garden. He was getting some pretty serious signals from her that his attentions would be welcome. And some of the kitchen staff were quite willing for a night of fun. But if Boss planned on staying out on the Storm Coast for a while longer, there were also a few scouts sending him pointed hints. Yeah, he'd be good.  
         "I wonder if we should return to camp..." The Inquisitor's murmur brought his attention away from his options for a good shag and back to the present. A not altogether unpleasant present, even with the rain. It wasn't a bad feeling to be trusted by someone like Lavellan. Certainly wasn't a hardship to look down at her with her bird-like body, those luminous purple eyes (which some Orlesian fop compared to dewy violets at one point), the smattering of freckles, and long, red-gold hair which clung to her skin in this rain. "It makes more sense than wandering through the hills looking for Varric and Dorian."  
         He shrugged and glanced around. "Sounds like a plan, Boss. We're close to the Driftwood Margin camp, if you want to go there."  
         Something Bull had noted about the Inquisitor was her tendency to think about decisions for a moment before coming to a conclusion. 'Impetuous' was not a word often applied to this lady. It held true now as she paused, then let out a sound of agreement. "You could put me down now. It isn't far."  
         Bull chuckled and shook his head, even if she couldn't see it. "Nah, Boss. It's no problem to let you ride the Bull for a little while longer." Carefully, he lifted her up onto his shoulders as she let out a surprised squeak. "Here, hold onto my horns."  
         "For the full experience?"  
         "You got it, Boss."

         His horns were large and sturdy, much like the rest of the Iron Bull. The Qunari himself was warm between her legs, more warmth than she usually felt through her horse's saddle. It struck Angharad that the only things separating her skin from Bull's were her rain-soaked leggings and the straps of the warrior's harness.  
         "You never answered Krem's question," she piped up, prompting a questioning noise from Bull. "About shirts in the Qun. Do you not wear shirts under the Qun?"  
         "Ohhhh, you're talking about when we had drinks with the boys last week." Angharad could feel and hear him chuckling, the sound vibrating through her legs and making her feel a little gooey inside. "Yeah, Qunari wear shirts. But it's way too easy to get horns stuck in your shirt, especially with my horns. There's actually a word that basically translates to 'running around with your shirt stuck on your horns'."  
         The Elf digested this as she curled over Bull's head, folding her arms between her chin and the top of his head. "Have you had that happen?"  
         "Nope! Well, not recently. I kinda gave up on wearing shirts."  
         "I can tell." She giggled softly, and that seemed to trigger his own laughter as he moved through foliage. "You don't even wear shirts with toggles or buttons?"  
         "Nope. Kind of like it this way."  
         "Hmmm. Krem doesn't seem too impressed with your lack of modesty concerning your pillowy man-bosoms."  
         The force of Bull's responding snort had Angharad grabbing for his horns to keep her balance, and he probably would have shaken his head if he hadn't felt her slight weight pulling at his head. "Krem has no taste. I haven't exactly heard you complaining about it."  
         He made a fair point. Angharad's lower lip jutted out as she pondered this. Finally, she simply said: "You're warm like this, and I like it."  
         It didn't even really register how that could be taken. She didn't even think about how it might seem bold, or forward. It was simply what she thought, how she felt, and she felt like stating it. No filter applied, no tension after speaking. She simply relaxed against Bull's head again, turning her own head so it nestled on her folded arms.

         Damn. At some point, they were going to have to sit down and talk about this. Wisely, Bull didn't comment on the Inquisitor's simple, sincere statement. But he made a very firm mental note that they'd have to discuss this. Either she wanted more from him, or she would realise what she was doing and change things up. They really needed to clear the air so Bull could get some sort of order back into his life.


	4. Second Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a move is made! Perhaps not quite the move Bull would like, but a move nonetheless. No more stagnating in agonising "does he/doesn't he, does she/doesn't she?" And another blossom blooms on the flowering plant of the Inquisitor's maturation.

         Angharad's head whirled as she mentally reviewed the results of the latest meeting with her advisors in the War Room. They needed to make more allies before heading out for Adamant. Sadly, the Qunari wouldn't be joining them, due to Angharad encouraging Bull to sound the retreat for his men. And she had no regrets. The Qunari...while powerful, she didn't quite trust them as a whole, with the plan to convert all of Thedas. She trusted the Chargers. As far as she knew the Chargers never sent assassins after people who left their organisation. And Angharad was not reassured by Bull's claims it was a mere formality.  
         Mere formality _her bony ass._  
         Augh, now she simply irritated herself all over again. But she didn't like people going after her own. The thought had her scowling as she trudged up the final steps to her bedroom.  
         A throat clearing as her head popped over the top of the stairs gave Angharad some warning there was another person in her room before Bull started speaking once he had her attention. "So, listen. I've caught the hints: you want to ride the Bull." She could hear him push himself up from where he was sitting--on her bed? Probably, judging by the creaking. "Can't say I blame you. But I'm not sure you know what you're asking. Not sure if you're ready for it."  
         What was he--? Oh. _Oh._ Creators, was her face flaming? Was it on fire? The little mage cleared her throat and toyed with a lock of hair as she thought over what she wanted to say.  
         Angharad certainly enjoyed time spent with Iron Bull. She felt...safe with him. He could be loud and boisterous, uncouth, exuberant, and so very alive. But Bull also toned it down for the Inquisitor when need be. He scooped her up whenever her energy or strength was flagging, spoke quietly and in a low, soothing voice when she needed it. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch for Lavellan to admit: she had a crush on Bull.  
         But he probably didn't feel the same way.  
         Qunari didn't marry. They had a completely different view on romance, on relationships, than the rest of Thedas. And judging from what Angharad had overheard over the past few months, Bull was quite happy to work his way through a crowd of willing bed partners. He probably saw the Inquisitor as wanting something similar.  
         "I--maybe I'm not," she admitted. Her slight weight shifted restlessly from foot to foot. "That isn't to say I wouldn't be! I simply..."  
         "Yeah..." His heavy hand settled on her head, ruffling her hair gently. "I know, Boss: you're in your head a lot. And you aren't so quick to let people in, real close, in any sense of the phrase."  
         She nodded miserably and sighed. "Don't go, though...I don't..."  
         Her tiny wrists were gently gathered up in one huge hand, her body backed up against the cool glass of a full-length window, and Angharad could feel Bull looming over her. She could feel his breath on her face. "I can go slow. But this is your last chance. You want me to stay, you'd better be ready to give up control." His hand gently squeezed around her wrists.  
         Give up control. Could she do that? After learning to keep such tight control, could she let go? Could she trust him to respect her limits? A brief moment of hesitation filled the room with silence aside from their breathing, before Angharad whispered, "Won't you please stay?"

         Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck.  
         She was so fucking cute.  
         Now, Bull had a lot of types. Predominantly redheads. He could see attractive qualities in many of the people he came across, especially when undercover as a Tal-Vashoth. But Angharad Lavellan, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, was just so damned cute. Especially when she pleaded with him.  
         It was safe to smile. She couldn't see it. Bull could let his innermost thoughts concerning Angharad out on his face as he dipped to scoop her up, letting go of her wrists. Once more she nestled against him like a trusting kitten, rubbing her face against his chest while a slim hand flattened itself on his scarred skin. Fuck, but he wanted to do raunchy things to her. Bull had no doubt he could get her to trust him enough for that. Shit like that...took time with the Inquisitor. Patience. But he respected her. He could give the little ginger patience.  
         When he settled on the bed with her in his lap, Angharad tensed. "Relax. I heard you loud and clear: no sex right now. We're taking this slow." _But you have to trust me._ Only way this worked was if she gave in completely. He gripped the back of her head and tugged at her hair, just enough to draw her attention. "So stop thinking. Just focus on me."  
         Nervousness was plain on her face and in her tense body. But slowly, the Elf relaxed. She was so fucking tiny in Bull's lap. Hell: even if they went straight to sex, it would take a while for this little woman to take all of him. She was a small package. Bull was not. In any way, shape, or form. And Angharad would learn that, eventually.  
         When the mage finally relaxed, Bull murmured soft words of praise directly into one large, pointed ear. Having to hunch over to do so was worth it though to feel her shiver, to have her face tip up even though her shoulders rose too. Bull could live with that. He could handle her gasp at his soft growl before rolling her onto her back, holding himself above her with his weight on his forearms on either side of her tiny frame. There was another moment of tension before Angharad clearly remembered she agreed to give up control. All she could do was trust him. And Bull would reward that trust.  
         "Hands above your head," he ordered in that warm, smooth voice that always had the Inquisitor relaxing with him. It reinforced his trustworthiness where she was concerned, because he'd always used it when putting her at ease, when it was just them. "You aren't the Inquisitor right now, aren't the Herald of Andraste. You're just Angharad. There's just me. And you. And I'm going to make you relax. If it gets to be too much, you just say 'katoh'. Understood?"  
         She nodded and lifted her hands above her head as Bull told her to. No hesitation. Good. And she kept them there as his hands roved, tracing her delicate form from soft-skinned face down past slightly, sweetly curving hips. Bull noted her heightened breathing, the tension in her body. But it was a good tension. Angharad wasn't hyperventilating, and he could see the faint outline of her nipples hardening. His suspicions were confirmed: she was more sensitive than a lot of his past partners, living in a world where she couldn't see what he was doing. All she could do was feel, hear, guess as Bull's hands moved over her, moved her, stretched her, had Angharad whimpering softly and shuddering before relaxing.  
         Yeah...they'd have to move slow, but Iron Bull figured it could damned well be worth it. The sweet bliss on her face as she fell asleep...it had the Qunari smiling to himself as he quietly closed the door behind him, though he wiped the expression from his face the moment he heard Leliana's voice say "Is the Inquisitor inside? I have some information that maybe--"  
         Bull cut her off firmly, shaking his head as he passed. "No. Let her rest."

         Surprisingly, a whole night passed, and a fair chunk of the morning before Angharad roused herself and practically flowed down the stairs from her room. She was still in something of a daze when she wound up in front of Bull (though not so dazed that she forgot to get dressed first) to be greeted with a "Hey, Boss. How are you?"  
         Angharad felt her ears pink up. To be honest: she had the best night's rest thanks to him in...well, probably since she woke up after sealing the Breach. "I'd like to talk in private," she murmured.  
         "Sure thing."  
         She was too nervous to really say anything during the short trek through the courtyard and main hall of the keep, or when Bull helped her up the flights of stairs.  
         "What's going on, Boss?"   
         "We need to talk about what happened between us."  
         "Oh, that. Sure. What's on your mind?"  
         Bull sounded so...nonchalant. It made the Inquisitor feel flustered, wonder if she was over-thinking things, but she couldn't help herself from stammering out--or trying to stammer out--what was whirling through her mind, still reliving being bared to Bull body and soul. "I'm still not sure...how to...what we did..."  
         He seemed to know what she was stumbling over. "If you're limping, I can show you a few stretches that'll take care of it."  
         Angharad let out an explosive sigh and ran her hands through hair still slightly rumpled from sleep, having only dragged a brush through it a few times. "That's not what I mean."  
         "You don't say." Oh, the dry humour was strong in this one. "Found a part of yourself you didn't know was there before. Ben-Hassrath training, remember? Grew up learning how to manipulate people. When it's a hostile target, you give them what they want," he explained as he headed for her desk, the solid piece of furniture creaking slightly as his bulk settled against it. "But when it's someone you care about, you give them what they need."  
         Angharad's brain was honestly whirling. Okay. Give someone you care about what they need. And Bull had given her what he'd seen her as needing. Did that mean he cared? Probably. But what did that mean for her? For them? "So. Um. How does this work?"  
         "Outside this room, nothing changes. You are the Inquisitor. You're the boss. I will never hurt you without your permission. You will always be safe," he assured her. And Angharad felt he meant it. Bull was using the voice he used in private with her, the low and warm voice that made her relax. "If you're ever uncomfortable, if you ever want me to stop, you say 'katoh', and it's over. No questions asked."  
         "No questions asked?" The young Elf couldn't help blurting out the words, checking to make sure Bull was certain, giving him a chance to amend his statement if he wished.  
         "If you didn't trust me, you would have told me to leave..." Bull's leather harness creaked as he pushed himself to his feet. She could feel his warmth getting closer, sense his hulking frame looming over her. "...but you didn't."  
         "No...I trust you." Angharad reached out and soon found her hands engulfed in Bull's much larger grip.  
         "Good." He tugged her forward and slightly up so she ended up straddling one of his muscular legs with a gasp. "And like I promised: we'll go slow. In this room, I'll take the control. But I won't break you, Kitten."  
         Her brows furrowed in question. "Kitten?"  
         "You kind of remind me of a kitten." His chuckle rumbled through her hands where he held them to his chest. "Tiny, fluffy, sweet, and oh-so-cute once you start mewling and purring."


	5. Budding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, the love and intimacy between The Iron Bull and the Inquisitor blossoms, somehow without the others really noticing. After all: who would expect Bull to keep it in his pants if he could have willing partners elsewhere?

         "I can't take it anymore!"  
         Angharad's head lifted, great violet eyes blinking, at that irate shout. "What has Varric done this time?" she queried reflexively. Whenever Cassandra raged, the Dwarf was the most likely instigator of her ire.  
         "Surprisingly, the Dwarf has done nothing. Yet." There was an ominous silence for a moment, then a disgusted sigh. That was certainly a disgusted sigh. Cassandra had a _trove_ of disgusted noises she was master of. "I was talking about you, Inquisitor. And your...hair."  
         The Elf raised her hands defensively to the long, silky locks that lay heavy over her shoulders. "My hair is fine!"  
         Cassandra sighed again as her hand rested on Angharad's head. "You have beautiful hair. But it is long, and unbound. It is a miracle you have not been caught in a bush, or had your hair grabbed by a Templar or apostate before now. It is not safe to wear your hair long and loose when you are in combat so often."  
         "As you say: it has not been a problem yet," the Herald pointed out, still holding onto her hair protectively. She _loved_ the feel of her long hair. It was smooth, silky, and kept out the cold of the mountain air. Her chin jutted out stubbornly and lifted. "I will not cut it."  
         "I did not say you must cut it, did I?" A gusty sigh escaped from the Seeker as she gently tugged on Angharad's hair. "But it cannot stay like this. So: every morning before we go out, you _will_ meet with me, and I will braid your hair."  
         ...Wait, what?  
         "Braid my hair?"  
         "Yes. Is that so surprising? I braid my own daily, though I have considerably less to worry about than you do."  
         Angharad's brow furrowed with a tilt of her head. Cassandra was all decisive tones, strong movements, steady footsteps. She smelled of leather, metal, armour polish, and sweat from her hard work. This didn't exactly make it obvious the warrior...apparently...braided hair...and Angharad knew what braids were. "Would not a braid simply make it easier for villains to grab my hair?" she asked instead of questioning how Cassandra knew how to braid.  
         She felt a slight shift in the air before a warm hand, larger than her own, rested on her shoulder gently. "I think I can come up with something a little harder for opponents to grab, Herald. If you will permit me?"

         It was kind of weird, really. Usually Angharad stopped by the tavern before now to ask for a bit of Bull's time before getting on with whatever the day had in store for them. But they were getting into the afternoon at this point.  
         Not that Bull was jealous. Just...perplexed by this change in routine. The Inquisitor was a creature of habit. It made getting under her skin and coaxing her out of her shell all that much sweeter.  
         He was just getting ready to see if Cassandra knew where the Inquisitor was, when he heard the sound of soft laughter. He knew that laugh, that little giggle. Bull's eyebrow lifted as he turned the corner of the tavern, following the sound of that laughter. The sight that met his eye was...actually kind of touching.  
         It was easy to forget sometimes just how young Lavellan was. She wore serenity like a cloak and moved with grace. Those sightless eyes of hers were often so solemn in her pale and freckled face. It was all too easy to believe she was like many Elves: older than she looked. But now she looked every bit her age despite the intricate hairstyle Cassandra was finishing up. Angharad was relaxed, a smile on that kittenish face, leaning against the warrior's knees as the older woman completed a braid and tucked in the end.  
         "You see? Much harder to grab and pull you off your guard," Cassandra declared while Bull leaned against the tavern wall and watched. "And it will take less time tomorrow, now that we have a style in mind."  
         "I suppose it is not so bad. And it is...relaxing."  
         "Doesn't look half bad."  
         Both women turned their heads towards the Qunari at that moment, Cassandra with a scowl and Angharad with pink cheeks. " 'Doesn't look half bad'? You need to have your eye checked," the warrior woman snorted as she helped Angharad to her feet. "You look lovely, Inquisitor."  
          _Yeah, she does. And fuckin' cute._ Bull was a master at controlling himself, so neither woman knew he was on the cusp of chuckling. He simply raised his hands in surrender as another disgusted glare was thrown his way by Cassandra and let the Herald pass him, following at a respectable distance. The position let his gaze rove over the myriad of braids Cassandra had woven: two on the crown of her head, four at the base of her skull, and they all came together to form one big braid that tucked in on itself to form something of a topknot.  
         "You know I'm just gonna take that all down tonight," Bull rumbled softly. And he knew she heard him by the pretty pink flush that spread up the back of her neck. Yeah...didn't look half bad.  
         The new way she had her hair showcased a pale, slender neck. Bull couldn't resist glancing at it when not keeping his eye on their surroundings as they travelled to the Emerald Graves. A couple of wisps of hair that had been too short for the braids curled at the nape of her neck, just little bits of fluff that glinted like gold in the sun. It was tempting to brush his big ol' fingers against those strands, against her smooth skin. He wanted to leave a big ol' love bite on that ivory skin. Maybe two. Mar up that perfect surface, make her more his Kitten instead of a porcelain religious figure, show she had someone worshipping her the way she should be.  
         But he behaved himself. The rules they had in place were as much for himself as they were for Angharad. He may have been declared Tal Vashoth, but he still had fucking discipline. He still had his honour, and he could do his duty instead of chasing his desires. So Bull pushed those desires to the recesses of his mind and focused on making sure the Inquisitor didn't make her way off a damned cliff or get ambushed.

         Bull was a man of his word. Angharad suspected he sometimes manipulated words to suit his purposes, and was an out-and-out liar when his duties called for it--particularly when he had been Ben-Hassrath. But when it came to the Inquisitor and their time alone together, the Iron Bull kept his word.  
         The Elf knew by this point how large her lover's hands were. He could easily pillow her head in the palm of one hand, warmth seeping through her hair and into her scalp from his combat-roughened skin. And he was strong--Bull could easily heft Angharad with one hand, or wield a sword that weighed at least as much as his slim leader. Yet those fingers more accustomed to handling sword, shield, axe, and hammer were gentle in working her hair free of the bondage Cassandra had imposed upon it. Angharad felt...safe, perched ramrod-straight in Bull's lap while he let down the smooth curtain of her hair. It was relaxing in a different way than sitting motionless while Cassandra braided her hair.  
         Outside of her room, this tent in lieu of her room, she was the Inquisitor, the Herald of a religious figure she did not exactly follow. But in this tent with Bull, she was Angharad. She was a trusting young woman who enjoyed Bull's warmth and measured strength.  
         "I gotta admit, Kitten: you've got fantastic hair." There was the gentle sensation of Bull lifting her hair, then a light tug to encourage her to fall back into his embrace. "I mentioned there's no redheaded Qunari, right?"  
         "Mhm." Angharad snuggled into Bull's chest, her hair sliding across his bare skin as she made herself comfortable. She remembered the conversation, as well as the Qunari warrior commenting on her hair. Not that the Elf really knew what 'red' was like. But now she knew apparently Qunari didn't have that colour hair, but she did. And it seemed her lover really, really liked red hair. Maybe that was part of why he'd been receptive of her interest in him? The Inquisitor's mind shied away from that train of thought, since it led to thoughts of the swathe he'd cut through willing and interested women and men back in Haven. Presumably the Iron Bull was attractive physically. Or perhaps it was the same charm that had drawn Angharad, the way he could tell how people felt, what they wanted or needed. More likely it was a combination of both. But she wouldn't think of it. She would delicately trace the scars on his torso, but she wouldn't think about...yeah...  
         He went quiet before nudging at her back, gently encouraging her to her knees before pulling the Elf into a hug. "What's going on in that head of yours, Kitten?" Bull asked gently. The wash of his warm breath over her ear had Angharad shiver, but it wasn't unpleasant. She liked it as much as she enjoyed his fingers stroking down her hair and back.  
         It was tempting to deflect. But the Qunari would know what Angharad was doing. So although she shrugged, the Herald admitted the truth while sliding her arms around his neck. "I was thinking about you. Me. What 'red' is. Whether my red hair is what had you approach me about my interest in you, when you had more than your fair share of people willing to warm your bed. I heard one of the Chantry healers talk about a night spent in your tent." The woman had apparently left it walking funny, but happy. Would the same happen to Angharad if she let their relationship go further?  
         "Oh, that." She felt his shoulders lift in a shrug. "It was sex. Everyone got what they wanted and needed. I actually haven't had any repeat nights, not even with the very thankful healer."  
         "She certainly seemed rather thankful the next day."  
         "Jealous?"  
         Angharad bit her lip with a frown and lifted her head. "Maybe. Did you do the same things with them that you did that first night with me?"  
         Bull's hands rested on her hips. Engulfed them, really. "You mean did I pin them down, take control? No. That's just for you, Kitten." Then his forehead and nose met hers, as gentle as his voice. "That's what _you_ need: a safe place where you don't have to be in control. _I_ am in control so you can let the war go, the command, the worry over your comrades and subordinates, the image you have to present to the masses and your inner circle. The ultimate control of how far we go is yours since this is for _pleasure and _your__ peace of mind. But you don't have to think about it. Just feel."  
         "And if I'm ready for more? For you to take more..." She kneaded at his broad shoulders while getting herself to continue on. This was safe. He was her safe place. She could say what she wanted. "...physical control, intimacy?"  
         "Then we can do that." Gently, his hands squeezed Angharad's hips. "Not here though. Tents aren't exactly the best for proper privacy."  
         At that, Angharad's cheeks heated while Iron Bull chuckled and nibbled on her earlobe. Which, by the way, did not help with the way her face flamed. Nor did it help with the privacy thing, since she let out a soft sound that was a cross between a squeak and a moan.

         She really was fucking cute. Outside of their designated areas for the power switch, Angharad was so serene, so composed as she led the way or executed an attack. But here, kneeling in the frame of Bull's embrace, she was unguarded and expressive. It was safe for her in this place.  
         But no matter what protective measures Bull might employ, a tent was no place for initiating further intimacy. Particularly not when surrounded by comrades and subordinates alike. "Later," he rumbled against her skin. It was a promise. "When we have that huge-ass bed of yours and the walls of your tower between us and everyone else... _then_ I'll give you what you want and need. For now..." He shifted until he was sprawled out on his back, his little Elf curled up on top of him. "...you need sleep, Kitten. I'm not goin' anywhere."


End file.
